Yellow Bloodwood

4. bonsai

Frequently I pause at a regenerating patch of bushland seeded
with surface soil from a not far distant forest and guess at the identity 
of sapling blue gums turpentines stringybarks coachwood 
angophoras acacias all less than a metre tall imagining the full grown trees 
that I will never see while nearby in his backyard Dave scissors 
leaves trains limbs to bonsai replicas of full grown trees imagined 
but will never be just as greatness may be thrust on men 
by circumstance the bonsai trees have smallness thrust upon them 
it’s why they fascinate like dwarfs in royal courts but what disturbs 
about the would-be-giant Ficus religiosa rooted in its inch of moss and gravel 
and no larger than a weed is had it reached potential 
it may have had a Buddha resting in its shade from the shock 
of his enlightenment just as remarkable the stunted wind-swept 
tortured forms of bonsai pines their ascetic lives spent on the calm 
and sunny two square metre garden bench in Dave’s backyard
a creative space so strange I wonder did God feel much the same
creating at his bench all living things but I dare not linger 
in this arboreal surgery for fear that bonsai love or madness might invade 
my mind so I retreat to the patch of regenerating bush 
relax breathe fresh air among the saplings freely stretching to the sun

(Australian Poetry Anthology)

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